


Alliance by Mésalliance

by brooksey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cunnilingus, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-07-19 21:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brooksey/pseuds/brooksey
Summary: "Perhaps more simply," Josephine said, "many ladies of the court were quite taken with Commander Cullen at the Winter Palace, the Empress included.""Can we not simply decline the offer?""I don't believe we can, Inquisitor. I think that for the sake of the Inquisition, and all we fight for, the Commander must accept."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Dragon Age fic (up until now I've only been a Mass Effect writer) so forgiveness for any major transgressions. Also I'm terrible at summaries and titles! :)
> 
> Will be updating tags, characters, number of chapters etc. when/if needed when new chapters go up.

"Damn and _blast._ "

Caitriona tips her chin down to hide her smile. Cullen sits across the chessboard from her, elbows on knees, so still and so focused on the pieces in front of him that she's not sure he realizes he's said anything aloud. When they first started playing their daily chess games, he beat her more often than not. But now, after months of practice (and a fair amount of studying up on strategy), they've drawn roughly even in skill level, and he's still adjusting to the challenge.

A breeze picks up, blowing leaves across the garden, and she shivers a little. She looks up and is surprised to notice the sky is starting to lose its usual brilliant color and turn a dusky blue-green as the sun sinks behind the Frostbacks, a sign that she and Cullen have played more games today than she realized. With a tiny pang of disappointment, she supposes that this will probably have to be their last game of the day. Playing chess with Cullen is one of the few times that she is able to really spend time with anyone else — it's rare that she's truly alone, but most of the time others are around, she's too busy making earthshaking decisions and avoiding reverent gazes to feel like she's among friends.

Her attention is drawn back to the chessboard when Cullen finally breaks from his statuesque stillness, snatching a piece off the board and moving it to its new space decisively. "I'm fairly sure I'm done in, but I’ll fight to the last," he declares. He sits back in his chair, resting one ankle on the other knee, steepling his fingers together to observe as she examines the board to see where things now stand. She leans forward, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the creeping chill, not willing to end the game early just for a little cold weather. After several minutes, she thinks she has a handle on his strategy and what to do next, but pauses when she looks up from the board to comment.

Cullen has shifted while she was studying the pieces, now leaning back in his chair, eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. She looks closer, and can see his forearms jumping slightly as he tries to steady his hands. He's breathing steadily, evenly enough that she can tell he's doing it to try to calm himself.

Her expression softens, then changes into one of worry. If he's shaking like this, he must be having an especially rough moment. She wants to comfort him, but months of chess games, afternoons at the war table, and walks along the battlements have taught her that the best thing she can do for him is wait. Eventually, his breathing becomes gentler and he visibly relaxes, although he doesn't open his eyes yet.

"Another bad one?" she asks gently, reaching across the board to lightly brush his hand. Her heart aches to see her friend afraid, in pain.

Cullen looks up with a start and a guilty expression. "I apologize, I didn't— well— yes. It was."

"Do you want to set this aside? We don't have to finish the game."

"No!" he replies, too quickly. "It passed quickly this time. I'm all right, really. Please, don’t worry about me."

"In that case," she says, mischief in her voice, "I shall continue to destroy your forces." She makes her next move, subtly checking Cullen once more for any signs that he's still suffering. He seems to have largely recovered, though, and refocused his attention on the game, so she sits back again to wait. Caitriona relaxes into her own chair, contentment seeping back into her body. The first stars have just begun appearing in the darkest part of the sky, and the nearby peaks of the Frostbacks are silhouetted beautifully by the setting sun. Soon they will run out of light, but she doesn't want to stop yet. She's grown fond of their time together, and lately, finds herself wishing it could go on longer.

He's just lifted a hand to reach for one of the pieces when the deep boom of a heavy wooden door closing echoes through the garden courtyard. Caitriona and Cullen both tense, Cullen's hand going automatically to his sword hilt. Most likely, it's just one of Skyhold's guards coming through, perhaps in search of a little fresh air after a long day on duty. But after what they've been through, they're both always on alert, even in what seems like the safest of places.

A moment later, striding through the deepening twilight, they see that the new arrival is not a guard, but one of Leliana's runners. The young man is so fresh-faced that Caitriona wonders whether he can even be of age yet. For a moment, she reflects sadly that he must be new to the Inquisition if he still has such innocence about him. 

"Commander", the messenger says crisply, giving a little half-bow to Caitriona before turning fully to Cullen. "Mistress Leliana bade me fetch you to the War Table."

Cullen frowns slightly, glancing up at the sky, then rising from his chair to face the young man. "At this hour? Can it not wait until morning?"

Taken aback slightly, the runner regroups and stands up even straighter in response. "I'm afraid not, Commander. She wished me to tell you that she insists on seeing you now."

" _Just_ the Commander?" She feels a ripple of disquiet within her, a pebble of concern dropped into still water, and a sudden, urgent need to understand exactly what is going on. "If it's so important as to call him away at a moment's notice, isn't it something I should also be involved in?"

Even in the fading light, she can see the young man's face redden deeply, and feels slightly guilty. Before she can reassure him, he stammers, "I don't— don't know, my lady Inquisitor. I was sent with a message for Commander Cullen, but my mistress didn't ask for— didn't say anything about—"

Caitriona stops him with a wave of her hand. "Never mind, recruit. I'm sure that if Leliana needs me, she'll send you back my way. Go ahead and take your man to the War Table." The messenger sags a little and sighs quietly in relief for a moment before collecting himself, nodding to each of them in turn, then walking back across the garden. As he disappears to the other side of the courtyard, she chances a look at Cullen; he, too, seems concerned. He glances back up at her and they exchange a look that says _whatever this is, I don’t like it._

"Well, then." A look of regret crosses Cullen's face before he dons a carefully neutral expression. "I'm afraid I have no choice but to end our game early after all," he says matter-of-factly. Then a hint of a smile comes to his lips. "All to the better for me, I think; I'm certain my doom was drawing near. It appears I am saved this time, but as always, I hope you will grant me another chance tomorrow."

Her small smile mirroring his own, she nods and promises him that he'll get plenty of opportunity to defeat her later. He offers her a deep nod before turning on his heel and following the path back towards the great hall and War Table.

With Cullen gone, she's much more aware of the cold Skyhold night. She shivers again, harder this time, thinking back over the afternoon. Rather than rising from her chair, heading indoors to the warmth of a crackling hearth, she stays in the garden, watching as the last streaks of blue fade into a moonless night, the sky painted with swirls of light and countless tiny pinpricks peppering the velvet blackness. 

Night duty pages have come through the garden, lighting lanterns along the walkways, when she comes out of her reverie. How long has she been sitting here, thinking of everything and nothing? _Long enough to wish I had a cloak,_ she muses, suddenly feeling that the late afternoon chill has become the cold bite of a wintry mountain evening. She stands, about to head back into the castle to a fire, _any_ fire, when Leliana's messenger returns. The look on his face makes her heart skip a beat. He's still not giving off any clues as to what exactly is going on, but she _can_ tell it's not good — the poor lad clearly wishes he was anywhere else but here.

"My lady Inquisitor," he says uncertainly, "I'm sent to... you're needed now, too."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _mésalliance (n):_ a marriage with a person of inferior social position.

A flash of gold satin slips behind a closing door as Caitriona steps into the hall leading to the war room. The fact that Josephine has also been called in for this situation does nothing at all to convince her that this will turn out to be a minor inconvenience. Her pace quickens, but as she reaches the war room door, she takes a moment for a deep breath before opening it. After all this time, she wonders how it could be that she still gets anxious about a crisis.

The war room looks different at this time of night — there are torches ringing the walls and a fire blazing in the hearth, bathing everything in a deep amber light. But in spite of that, shadows cling to the edges of the room, making the place feel almost sinister. She glances to one of the better-lit corners, where she can see that Leliana is huddling with Josephine, both of them speaking in low, serious voices and studying a small piece of parchment. When Caitriona walks in, Leliana glances up and makes a small gesture to say that she will be wrapping up the conversation shortly. 

Turning to look for Cullen, she is mildly surprised to find him pacing the space behind the war table, a lion anxious to escape his cage. It's unlike Cullen to show distress so openly; normally he keeps himself much more collected than this. Clearly, he knows what has happened, and seeing that it has rattled him so much just amplifies her nerves. Although she has stepped to the edge of the table, out of the haze of shadow, he doesn't look up — his gaze is fixed to the floor in front of him as he strides up and down the room, pinching the bridge of his nose again. 

"Inquisitor," Leliana greets her, Josephine echoing a moment later as they both reach the table. 

"Let's get to it, shall we?" Caitriona's patience is running quite low, so best to just get to the point.

"Of course," Leliana says quietly. "We received a raven this evening from Empress Celene. She sends word of the party of Orlesian nobility traveling to Skyhold to escort Charlotte Amélie, daughter of the countess of Colombe Blanc, for her wedding to Prince Bastien Pentaghast of the lower royal house of Nevarra. They left Orlais this afternoon and expect to arrive in time for the wedding, to be held three days from now."

She nods absently, waiting to hear more. News that the castle will soon be swarming with nobles cannot be the only reason they're here. This event has been in the works for months; she had agreed to it reluctantly, and only after losing a protracted battle of wills with Leliana and Josephine. Hosting these festivities will (so she is told) be seen as a gesture of friendship between the two nations and the Inquisition. If she's being honest, she rather more agreed with Cullen on the subject. He put up a surprisingly stubborn fight against the idea before he was finally overruled, at which point he simply began muttering darkly whenever the event was under discussion.

Leliana exchanges a quick look with Josephine before continuing. "We were also informed of the addition of Lady Juliette, cousin to the Empress, to the party."

Turning her head, she sees that Cullen has finally approached the war table while Leliana was speaking. Contrary to his earlier restless demeanor, he is now standing stock-still, bending over the table and resting on his fists, his head dropped to look straight down. When Leliana makes mention of Lady Juliette, Cullen's jaw clenches tightly.

"The Empress tells us that she wishes to strengthen the ties between Orlais and the Inquisition by arranging the marriage of Lady Juliette to... to the Commander."

For a moment, she is speechless, processing what she has just heard. A marriage alliance? And with ... ? 

Leliana continues, stealing a brief glance at Cullen before she speaks. "We have received reports that there is some resentment among the Orlesian court over the large role the Inquisition played in its recent intrigues. This maneuver is likely intended to increase Celene's influence within the Inquisition by placing a contingent of her people here permanently, in a position close to its leaders. As if that were not enough, the Lady Juliette is rumored to be a bit of a problem for the Empress. There has been more than one incident that Celene has had to cover up, lest it bring embarrassment and loss of standing upon them both."

Nodding, Josephine chimes in. "It is probable the Empress sees this as a victory on two fronts. She can tip the scales further in her favor as far as the Inquisition goes and rid herself of a rather troublesome relation in one stroke."

"But why _me?_ " bursts Cullen in a strangled voice, finally looking up from the table. Anger building as he speaks, he begins pacing again. "I am no noble. Why in the name of Andraste would Celene want to marry off a member of her family, even a... _troublesome_ one, to the son of a common man from a nothing village in Ferelden? Surely a cousin of the Empress warrants a match with someone of higher birth than mine."

Josephine reaches out to Cullen, laying a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and stopping him in his tracks. "Commander, your position as senior adviser to the Inquisition provides you with more than enough status to be considered a good match for someone like Lady Juliette. And perhaps more simply, many ladies of the court were quite taken with you at the Winter Palace, the Empress included. It may be that she expects you would provide the sort of... influence... that Celene wishes to see her dear cousin receive."

Cullen folds his arms and returns his gaze to the table. Caitriona's heart sinks at the look of defeat in his eyes. She turns to Leliana and Josephine, and sees the same defeat mirrored there. Still — "Can we not simply decline the offer?"

"I don't believe we can, Inquisitor." Caitriona has never heard Leliana speak so gently, or heard her voice so full of regret. "By simply sending the Lady rather than negotiating an arrangement, the Empress has forced our hand. Declining the marriage alliance will prompt an embarrassingly public rejection of her close family member, and risk Orlais distancing itself from the Inquisition. Their doing so would weaken our own position considerably. She may even use the incident as an excuse to cut ties with us completely. With everything we are facing, Josephine and I agree we cannot afford to lose the support of Orlais."

It takes Caitriona a moment to register Leliana's next words: "I think that for the sake of the Inquisition, and all we fight for, the Commander must accept."

Her voice sounds hollow in her own ears, her mind racing as she looks skyward, searching the darkness above her for an answer, any answer, that will somehow fix this. "We cannot force Commander Cullen into a marriage against his will, no matter how much it may hurt our cause to turn Lady Juliette away."

Cullen sighs, tired and resigned, moving to the empty hole that must have once housed an elaborate stained glass window. Leaning against the edge of the open space, still tense despite the relaxed pose, he turns his attention to the stars outside. She realizes that she is willing him with every fiber of her being to resist this madness — to have another angry outburst, refuse to be bullied into marriage to a stranger, storm out, _something_. Instead, he does nothing. As the moments pass, as the silence draws out longer, her heart sinks further.

The women at the table wait, all eyes turned toward Cullen. He finally stands up straight, squares his shoulders, and strides purposefully back to the table. His eyes carefully avoid meeting anyone else's. "Leliana and Josephine are right. We cannot win the battle before us if we lose the support of a crucial ally." 

He takes a deep breath, and continues. "I have sworn my body, my life, my self to the Inquisition. If this marriage is what the Inquisition requires, then I—" His voice cracks slightly. His eyes connect with hers for the first time since she came into the room; the glimpse of despair she sees sends a jolt through her body, then is gone. She can see him force himself back into his usual controlled composure. 

"If this is what must be done, then I shall do it."

Caitriona, mouth gone dry, says nothing. She feels slightly dazed as she watches Leliana and Josephine move towards Cullen, offering him words of encouragement and gratitude. It's suddenly freezing in the war room; despite the roaring fire, she feels as bitterly cold as she did sitting outside minutes — was it only minutes? — ago. Echoing and distorted as though she's in the bottom of a well, she hears the others agree to meet in the morning and bid each other a good night. She responds in kind automatically, a puppet on strings while her mind has fled her body. 

She is suddenly overwhelmed by a powerful desire to be asleep. Using the narrow, dusty staircase behind a half-broken wall in the war room, she goes directly to her quarters, not wanting to risk running into anyone by passing through the great hall. Lost in thought, she slips into her nightclothes and then immediately into her bed. It should be warmer here, but it isn't; the bone-deep cold doesn't go away even as she curls up into herself under the thick blankets. Unbidden, images come to her mind of the Lady Juliette, envisioning what she'll look like, how grand the wedding will be.

She doesn't notice when, in the middle of picturing herself having to toast the happy couple, she finally drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this will get happier for these two... I just haven't finished writing it...!
> 
> Hopefully it is worth reading (and continuing to write) while we get there... :/


	3. Chapter 3

For just a moment when she wakes up, Caitriona's mind is hazy, still half in the Fade. Her bed is warm and cozy, and it's dark outside; surely this means that she should get right back to her dreams. She sighs deeply and snuggles further down into her pillow, pulling the fluffy layers of blankets up and tucking them under her chin, keeping everything safely hidden from the cold, dark night.

Then — things come rushing back, and her eyes pop open. She is instantly wide awake, her mind suddenly racing with uninvited, unwelcome thoughts that pierce her heart like a thousand tiny needles. Squeezing her eyes shut and taking a deep breath, she makes a halfhearted attempt at going back to sleep before sitting up in bed, fingers combing through her long red hair. Through the open doorway leading to her balcony, she sees a faint light creeping up behind the black mountain peaks to the east. 

_At least it's nearly time to get up,_ she sighs to herself. If only to keep her mind slightly occupied, she gets out of bed and dresses in her most comfortable clothing. Although lacking a high neckline, the long sleeves help keep in some warmth before the drafty bedroom air can steal it away. Tan pants, soft leather boots that are so well-worn she hardly notices she's wearing them. A glance in the mirror reveals green eyes that look troubled in a freckled complexion. She begins to put her hair up in the elaborate, braided style she'd been taught by her governess _("A lady of high birth is always nicely put together...")_ , but quickly decides not to bother. One can't _always_ be the Herald of Andraste and a lady at the same time.

Morning preparations complete, she sits down at the desk in her quarters. It is, astoundingly, neat and tidy. Normally her desk could be called chaotic at best, papers strewn about in several piles, typically at least one exasperated note from Josephine asking her to at least take care of the most important items. How is it possible that she has nothing waiting for her, no letters to answer, no intelligence reports to review... not even some sort of prank from Sera? 

_Of course today is the day I'm all bloody caught up and left nothing to distract myself with._ Surveying the room, her options appear to be going back to bed, or taking a seat at her empty table. Going back to bed will only give her more opportunity to think — the last thing she wants to do — and just sitting here isn't much better. Off, then, for a walk. Keeping herself moving will help even if she doesn't find some other distraction elsewhere in the castle.

She strolls through the corridors of Skyhold, boot heels echoing on the stone, amplified by the halls empty of people. Walking does help somewhat, and as she walks she wonders whether she ought to try going down to the archery range — even simple straw-filled targets would take up a fair amount of her concentration. She's on the verge of turning and taking a door that will lead her to the lower courtyard when she remembers that she won't have enough light to practice safely. Promising herself a visit later in the day, she keeps moving down the torchlit hall.

Through another heavy wooden door, hinges creaking as she pushes it open, and a blast of chilled air hits her in the face. After a moment to get her bearings, she realizes where she's walked without even thinking about it: the garden. She goes a few steps past the door, hanging back amongst the shadows on the second floor walkway. From here, she can see the plain but solidly crafted table and chairs that she and Cullen always use to play their chess games. 

The sight of it makes her feel — what? Sad? Afraid? Angry with Leliana, for not being able to stop this? Angry with herself for wanting... something, and angrier still for not knowing what it is she _does_ want?

Frustrated and confused, she steps forward and leans her arms onto the walkway railing. The toe of one boot taps lightly on the ground, and she looks straight down into the garden as if hoping a benevolent spirit will appear there and provide all the answers she needs. She is so lost in thought that she doesn't hear the sound of a second pair of boots approaching from the other end of the walkway.

"Couldn't sleep?" Cullen's voice is close by, kept low at this pre-daybreak hour.

Surprised, she turns to face him, his face half-lit, golden hair gleaming pale in the moonlight. A moment ago, she would have said that nothing would bring a smile to her face today, but as it turns out, she was wrong.

"Not really. I thought it'd be better to have a walk than lie there thinking. I wandered for a while, and ended up here. You too?"

Cullen gives her a small smile and a nod in return, but says nothing. He, too, leans over and rests his forearms on the walkway railing, looking out over the garden. With a stolen glance, she sees that he's staring at their chess spot, too.

"I suppose this news means that we'll have to cut back considerably on our chess matches," she ventures carefully, keeping one eye on him as she speaks.

He frowns momentarily, turning to face her. "Will we?" 

"Well," she offers, "it wouldn't be my choice. But I would imagine that your— your wife might object to being deprived of so much of your free time."

A deep sigh, one she could swear sounds almost relieved. "Of course, yes. I suppose you're right, we'll have to stop playing. Er, not that I _want_ to— I mean, you know that if it were up to me—" There's just enough moonlight that she can see he's starting to blush as he fumbles his words.

"Shh. I know." They fall quiet again, looking back out over the garden. Caitriona shuffles her feet, inching towards Cullen. She has a powerful urge to rest her head on his shoulder, but in the end she holds herself back.

After a long, comfortable silence, he suddenly laughs and runs his fingers through his hair. "Andraste save me, an Orlesian noble for a wife. A _troublesome_ Orlesian noble, no less. I'm not going to know what to do with her."

A sly smile picks up one corner of her mouth. She arches a brow at him and asks in a suggestive tone, "Won't know what to do? Is that so?"

It takes him a minute to catch on, but when he does, he starts stumbling over his words immediately. She just watches, amusement and affection playing across her face. Cullen is so easy to fluster. "Oh, well, um— I, ah, no. That is to say, I actually—" He takes a breath before continuing: "As it happens, I do know what to do. In, ah, that department."

"Really? My my. This sounds like a tale I simply must hear." She rests one elbow on the railing, and cups her chin in her hand, turning an exaggerated attentive look toward Cullen. He's definitely blushing now, pink cheeks burning in his face even in the pale white light.

"Yes, well... there isn't much to tell. I met a girl from the village nearest the training camp when I was eighteen, just after I took my vows as a templar." She is surprised at that, and he explains, "It isn't usually done, but templars aren't forbidden from... that... as long as it doesn't interfere with our duty to the Chantry. At any rate... she was a bit older than me and," he clears his throat, "experienced."

"Experienced?" she teases. "Taught you everything you needed to know, then, did she?"

He smiles ruefully. "You could say that. I was assigned to Kinloch Hold not long after, and we chose to part as friends."

"I never would have believed it of you, Cullen," she grins. Another inch closer to Cullen; in her peripheral vision, she sees him inching towards her, too. Finally she does put her head on his shoulder, and he relaxes rather than tensing up as she thought he might. He leans his head to the side, and rests it on hers in return. After a contented moment feeling his warmth next to her, she says softly, "I’m really going to miss you."

"No more than I will miss you, I promise you," he replies, and wraps an arm around her. Almost before she realizes it, they have turned and pulled themselves together in a crushing hug. Somehow her hands slipped beneath his cloak and she can feel the heat of him, feel his muscles moving as he slides his palms up and down her back. He turns to one side and buries his face in her hair, stubble scraping along the side of her neck. She's almost too distracted by how wonderful he smells to notice the tingle she gets from that scraping — almost. 

A detached part of her mind wonders how this happened, while the rest of her mind insists it doesn't matter _how_ , it just matters that it _is_ happening, that she's wrapped tightly in his arms. With a twinge, she thinks to herself that they have waited too long to do this — and why did they wait so bloody long to do this? Now it's too late, and any minute now Cullen will remember the situation he's in, pull back sharply, maybe even push her away. She tightens her grip on him to have him that much closer until he does.

Eventually he does pull away, though he keeps his arms around her instead of stepping back, seemingly unwilling to let go of her completely. "Now that I'm— I really shouldn't..." He trails off, closing his eyes, and takes a deep breath. But then, his mask of composure slipping, he moves back towards her swiftly, taking her face in both hands and resting his forehead against hers. 

"Maker forgive me for what I'm about to do," he murmurs.

And suddenly, his lips are on hers, kissing her deeply, pulling her in closer to him with his hands. She can feel the heat of his skin on hers, on her hands now slipping further up inside his cloak. Without hesitation, she returns the kiss enthusiastically, sliding her tongue against his and feeling a twist of heat in her stomach. Her legs have turned to water and her heart feels ready to burst. Leaning into the embrace, Cullen gives himself over completely to it, one hand moving to the back of her head. The other slips down to the small of her back and pulls her even closer to him. Body pressed fully to his, she wraps her arms around his neck, threading her fingers into his hair. 

Finally, he breaks the kiss, and she sighs aloud as his lips move to her neck. The kisses are slower now, gentler, stubble brushing against her neck to thrill her again. As he slides his tongue down from her neck toward her collarbone, she's able to touch hers to his earlobe, and is rewarded with a sharp exhale. The more she kisses his ear, his neck, the tighter her grip in his hair, the faster his breathing becomes. Eventually, he has to pause, and rests his forehead on hers again, both of them breathing hard this time.

She has just begun touching her lips to his again, the softest of kisses as an invitation for more, when they hear a bell toll in the near distance. They both jump, and Caitriona knows that, for her part, she's startled because she'd forgotten where they were — or more truthfully, she'd forgotten the rest of the world even existed, for a time. She glances around, seeing that semi-darkness has been replaced by weak, early morning daylight. Her mind tries valiantly to reorient itself.

"Maker take that infernal bell," Cullen growls. 

_Right. First bell._ After a moment, she catches up to what that means: the castle will be coming to life, everyone waking and going about their daily routine. It means she'll be expected in the morning war council meeting soon. It means...

Exchanging a pained look, they separate from each other only reluctantly. She drops her head to his chest for a moment and he kisses the top of her head, rubbing his hands over her upper arms. But even this can't last — they both know it will be only a few more moments before someone comes across them. They each take a step backwards, their hands clasping for a heartbeat before finally letting go.

Cullen wraps a hand around the back of his neck, blushing again, his even brighter pink cheeks lending their color to the rest of his face. "I should go," he says gently. "We're expected shortly; probably best if we come from our respective... um... if we don't arrive together."

Caitriona nods, agreeing with him though she hates to do so. "Especially not with you blushing like that," she teases, partly to make him flush even more deeply — and it works. She decides to let him off the hook, and turns to slip back into the castle, wanting to put up her hair at last if she's going to be out in public. Her grin only widens further when Cullen exhales a frustrated breath behind her as she walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, some happiness to offset (and as a result of!) the initial angst.


	4. Chapter 4

Wedding preparations had taken over the castle already by the time the morning war council meeting was over. When Iron Bull had found her and suggested they head out somewhere to "find ourselves another dragon, and kick its _ass_ ", she had agreed to the plan wholeheartedly. Grateful for the reprieve, they had set out for the Emerald Graves, Dorian and Varric roped in to join them.

No dragons have presented themselves for ass-kicking, but despite that, the group is in high spirits as they turn back toward Skyhold. Green light filters through the trees, the ground beneath dappled with shadows that ripple and sway when a breeze brushes past. The road they are on can barely be called such, stones and pebbles scattered about in merely the suggestion of a path, overgrown with tufts of grass peeking out through the gaps everywhere.

Caitriona has fallen back from the others, keeping pace a short distance behind them. She can hear them talking, but isn't paying enough attention to catch what they're saying. After what happened in the early hours of the morning, her mind is like a butterfly, flitting from thought to thought. The way Cullen blushed when she teased him, the warmth when he held her in his arms, the heat of his kisses. The upcoming wedding, the approaching Lady Juliette, the way things will change once he's... 

_Stop,_ she scolds herself. Part of the reason she's out here right now is to get away from those thoughts. At Skyhold, with everything that's going on, they'd be inescapable, but here she can shake them off. Now that she's snapped herself back to her surroundings, she can hear Iron Bull chortling, while Varric is... singing? Laughing at whatever she has missed, Dorian breaks off from them, slowing his pace until he's walking next to her. She can tell that Dorian has something to say, but she just walks on, content to let him wait.

"All right, out with it," Dorian says brightly, finally unable to resist.

"Out with what?"

He rolls his eyes a little. "Your secret, of course. Out with it!"

"What makes you think I have one?" she asks carefully.

"You've been positively hopeless all day," he points out. "You've been so lost in thought that you haven't commented, not _once,_ on the delightfully filthy lyrics Varric is composing for the Chargers' new drinking song. Your face looks like a thundercloud — but then every so often, out of nowhere, you've a smile that lights up your whole face." 

Dorian turns to look her in the eye. "You, my dear, have a secret. The very best kind of secret, if my guess is correct. And surely you wouldn't be so cruel as to deprive me of the details?"

She grins despite herself. He's right, of course. She's always had trouble hiding her feelings, and Dorian's eye is keener than most. The good news is he has proven she can trust him to keep her confidences. Dorian's going to keep needling her about this until she gives in, and the truth is, it's a relief to have the opportunity to talk with a friend.

"I would, in fact, but not today," she teases. She slows down a bit before speaking, allowing their companions to pull even further ahead of them, well out of earshot. "Before dawn this morning I found myself on the upper garden walkway. After a short while, Cullen turned up there, too." 

Dorian's eyebrows perk up, encouraging her to say more. "We talked. Eventually, I'm not even sure how, there I was in his arms." Sense memory hits her then: she can feel him wrapped around her; she can smell his heavenly scent. If only she could just lose herself right now, live in that memory. But she blinks quickly and picks back up. "I could have stayed there forever. But then he— _we—_ kissed."

He seems pleased to hear it. "Did you really? Well done, you. It's about time you let your hair down. And then...?"

His tone is so lascivious she can practically see his eyebrows waggling. Laughing, she shakes her head. "And then, nothing, I'm afraid. The sun came up, the morning bell rang, and we had to part ways."

She can tell that the brevity of the tale has left him a touch disappointed, but as always, he makes the best of it. "Such naughty children, stealing kisses in the dark. But truly, it's a shame it had to end prematurely. The Commander is quite the strapping young soldier, not to mention criminally handsome. Many a time have I envied whichever lucky lady gets to someday... see the real Cullen." 

She stifles a laugh at that, and he goes on. "That explains the glowing smiles. I assume, then, that the stormy expression has to do with his whirlwind betrothal?"

"Partly," she allows. "No one is pleased about that. But it's also partly... well, this." She reaches into a small pocket and hands him a folded note, broken seal of the Inquisition upon it. A messenger girl had brought it to her quarters this morning, just before she left. The words, written in Cullen's hand, have been passing through her mind since then:

_Meet me tonight. You know where to find me._  
_I'll be waiting at sundown._

Dorian glances down to read the note, and this time it's his face that lights up. "A sunset rendezvous? How enchanting. Who knew our Cullen would turn out to be such a romantic? But this should have you simply bursting at the seams with excitement, and yet, it has had the opposite effect." He looks at her expectantly.

"I don't know if I can do it, Dorian," she blurts out, fear and pain in her voice. "I don't know if I can do it, or if I even _should_ do it. Part of me wants to, more than anything. But then I remember that he's promised to another. That alone should be enough, but even if it weren't... in two days, I'm going to lose him. I..."

She sighs, falling into silence. To his credit, Dorian just walks alongside her and lets her think. The light loses its rich green hue as the trees of the Graves thin out, then disappear altogether. Now on the path that will take them back up the mountain, she can look up and see the tops of Skyhold's tallest towers even from down on the ground. The thought of arriving back there brings on a rush of nerves. 

The truth has been at the back of her mind all along, but it takes her a while to unearth it, and then to voice it aloud. "What happened last night... it already has me wondering what might have been, and cursing the fact that now, I'll never find out. The thought of being separated from him, having to watch him spend time, _our_ time, with someone else... it's killing me as it is. And... I'm afraid that if we get any closer, it'll hurt that much more when he's gone."

"Of course you are," he shrugs. "Because you're right — almost certainly, it will be more painful. Only a fool wouldn't be afraid. But you're even more a fool if you let this pass you by instead of grabbing it with both hands. Grabbing _him_ with both hands, if you know what's good for you." 

Caitriona smiles and reasons that it would be most unlike Dorian not to slip in a suggestive remark or two. "Perhaps. But between that and the betrothal, it just seems like—"

"Forget the betrothal," he interrupts. "Cullen is clearly not letting that stop him, and neither should you. As for the rest... at the very least, defying your fears will save you a lifetime of wondering." A grin takes over his face. "And at the very _best_ , he'll spend all night having his way with you, and you'll have hours of salacious detail to pass on to me tomorrow." 

Slowly exhaling, she walks with her head down. Dorian is, again, right. But...

"It isn't that easy—"

"By the Maker, woman!" He takes her arm to stop her walking, turns her to face him, and grabs her by the shoulders. His expression softens as she looks up and meets his eyes. "Please, my dear, stop thinking so much. He wants this. You want this. Go to him."

She does, Andraste help her, she does want this. Another rush of adrenaline and nerves sweeps through her body when her decision is made at last. Dorian squeezes her shoulder, nods in encouragement. She looks up at the castle, wondering where Cullen is right now, wondering what he's doing. With a deep breath, she sets herself a quick, determined pace back up the mountain — the day is growing long, and she needs to be back before sundown.


	5. Chapter 5

Cullen is already waiting in the garden when she arrives, late enough that the deep blue of the sky is starting to turn a muted purple-black in the east. Leaning against a stone pillar, arms folded, his eyes move restlessly around the courtyard. Thanks to the fading light, his gaze slides right past her as he searches. Even after getting here later than she should have, she takes one last moment in the shadows for a deep breath and to screw up her courage before stepping out where he finally sees her.

His stance relaxes immediately. "I thought for a moment you wouldn't come," he says, plainly relieved. 

"I almost didn't."

"You... didn't?"

Thinking of Dorian, one corner of her mouth quirks up. " _Almost_ didn't. But a little voice in my head reminded me why I should be here, and was right." 

Now that she's crossed the garden, behind him she can see that he's brought out the chessboard, pieces lined up on each side, marshaled into rows precise as his soldiers. Her breath catches for a moment as she gestures to the little table — could it be that this is why he wanted to meet, and nothing more?

"A clandestine meeting just for a game of chess?"

"Ah, yes," he says, cheeks coloring, "that. Well. Truthfully, I hoped we could... take a walk? Up to my tower. So we can... talk." A pause, then he continues in a rush: "But of course, should you rather stay here, I thought perhaps a rematch might be an acceptable alternative."

Cullen's response makes her smile affectionately. How can she not be charmed by his earnest bashfulness? At the same time, her heartbeat picks up its pace: she is relieved to hear this rendezvous isn't for playing chess after all, but then, that turns her thoughts to what it truly _is_ for. Terrifying, exciting, head-spinning thoughts. They haven't even come that close to each other yet but already the anticipation is causing that familiar twist in her stomach, making her unsteady on her feet. 

When she reaches out, he automatically offers her his arm, which she takes. "A walk, then."

At this point, it won't be long before Cullen has blushed so much that it becomes a permanent fixture on his face. Still, it's something she never gets tired of, and when it happens again now it brings a smile to her face as always. They climb the stairs and walk along the top of the battlement, which Caitriona notes is conspicuously missing the usual handful of night guards on patrol. Peering further into the darkness behind a lit brazier on the other side of the landing, it appears that in fact there isn't anyone in sight at all.

She looks out over the mountains and remarks airily, "Are we in need of more conscripts for night duty again, Cullen?"

He jumps and starts coughing, and as much as she'd enjoy watching his reaction, she keeps her head turned to the side to hide a chuckle. By the time she's composed her face into a serious expression and looked back at him, he's recovered. "We are not, no."

"No?" she asks.

"It's possible I may have... forgotten... to assign a team to this rotation for tonight." 

"I see. Well, I suppose the oversight can be allowed for one night." Glancing sideways, she feels a rush of affection for him upon seeing that he's smiling, but still too shy to look up and meet her eye. With a reassuring squeeze, she wraps both hands around his arm, drawing in closer to him, and finally he looks up, though he can only hold her gaze for the briefest of moments.

If she thought he'd feel more at ease when they got back to his tower, she was sorely mistaken. He successfully locks the door behind them only on his third try, then fumbles the key when he tries to hang it on its rusty hook. Hopping up to perch on the edge of his desk, she waits in amused, patient silence while he searches for it. Finally getting the key settled, he hangs his head for a second before turning around and approaching her. With a deep, slow breath, he takes his gloves off, then reaches out and takes her hands in his. His thumbs stroke back and forth across the backs of her hands, but... The seconds stretch out, and he says nothing.

"Cullen," she prompts, voice getting gentler when he startles slightly, "you wanted to talk?"

"Yes. I... yes. Well. The trouble is..." he trails off, and this time she waits him out until he's ready to continue. "I know that, given the situation... I know how things ought to be, the proper way to behave. The trouble is, I'd always thought we would... have time. Once this was all over. Then this... _this_ happened and took that from us. But..."

His eyes drift down to their joined hands, gripping tighter as he pauses. Caitriona gently squeezes back, willing him to understand that he can trust her, that he's safe here with her. Mirroring his earlier movements, her thumbs brush back and forth over his skin lightly. Finally, he speaks although not quite able to meet her eyes.

"I find myself unwilling to give you up. Not yet. And — forgive my presumption, but — since we've so little time left, I wondered whether you'd... that is, if you want to, I'd like it if you'd... stay with me."

Blushing as ever, Cullen's eyes are immovably fixed downward, his lips pale as he presses them together, waiting for her answer. When it becomes clear he isn't going to look up, she squeezes his fingers again, then hooks her feet around the backs of his knees and pulls gently to bring him in close. Their hands come apart and, though he's surprised for a second, he quickly moves to wrap them around her waist while at the same time her arms twine about his neck. Before he can say anything else, she pulls his head down to hers and kisses him deeply.

Even had Andraste herself demanded it, she cannot now recall even the slightest wisp of reason why she had been fretting over meeting Cullen tonight. Being here, kissing him, being wrapped up in him, is exactly where she's supposed to be, and thank the Maker, here they are. Caitriona is so eager that her kisses come almost too fast, barely leaving her space to breathe, and eventually she has to break off, tracing up his jaw with her lips and teeth. 

"May I assume your answer is yes?" he chuckles, at the same time she whispers in his ear: "Of course I'll stay."

Cullen leans down, his arms going as tightly about her as is possible, face buried in the side of her neck, taking a shuffling step forward until he is standing right next to his desk, her legs on either side of his. For a minute, he just stays there, pressing her to him as though holding on for dear life. She holds right back because she knows exactly how he feels.

But then he's pulling back a little, his hands moving to her sides where they slip up and down, sliding easily over the thin fabric of her outfit, rising a little higher with every motion. Things are not as easy for her: moving her hands down over the rough fabric of his shirt is well enough, and she inwardly blesses him for going without his heavy armor chestplate. But the thick folds of his cloak, trapped between them, are impossible to navigate. Searching for their edges with her fingers, looking for a way she can reach up inside, the task is made even harder when he starts dropping tiny kisses along the crook of her neck and drives her to distraction. 

"Curse this blighted thing," she mutters, leaning away from him, her fingers running under the cloak to push it back off his shoulders. His expression reveals no trace of shyness now, and he takes the heavy garment the rest of the way off for her, tossing it aside, instantly forgotten. Never having seen him without his cloak and armor before, she takes a moment to admire him: although the plain muslin shirt is loosely fitted, she can see that his breeches are the opposite, the laces at the sides keeping the rich chestnut brown leather held tight to his body. Adorably, he has knotted the ties on his collar together, rather than letting them hang loose in the front like most men do. Grinning, she plucks at the knot; he frees it easily and the collar falls open.

In return his fingers brush over the buttons at her collar, less confident than she was, gentle touches asking the question. The answer, then: her deft fingers quickly undo the top four buttons and pull her own collar aside, and Cullen wastes no time, quickly taking the opportunity to press his lips to the hollow of her throat, kissing, running his tongue along the collarbone.

The desire to just tip her head back and leave him to his devices is nearly irresistible, and for a moment she doesn't fight it. Then she collects what shreds of her concentration remain and uses it to focus on undoing the rest of her buttons. When he eventually pulls himself away from her throat and notices what she's done, though, he hesitates, suddenly shy again. 

She senses that he needs more permission than the sight of her shirt hanging open, showing a few inches' gap between her breasts but not leaving her fully exposed. Her hands sneak beneath the hem of his shirt, calloused fingers exploring the flat plane of his stomach, then higher, tracing sinuous lines up the sides of his ribcage. Sliding around to his back, she grasps the fabric and brings it up over his head while he reaches up to help pull it off. Dragging her nails down his back as she goes, she rests her palms on his desk, the strip of her skin visible now wider as she leans back.

That was enough, it seems, and perhaps more than enough, because Cullen appears to have lost some degree of control. Rather than taking it equally slowly, his fingers immediately slide between her shoulders and her shirt, pushing it back, down her arms and off as soon as she is able to lift her hands to pull them out of the sleeves. Lips back on hers, she gasps suddenly when he moves one hand to her bare breast, sweeping his thumb over the hard nipple. After repeating the motion and getting a soft moan in reaction, he breaks off the kiss — and to her surprise, instead of his characteristic shyness, his face is full of suggestive intent.

Even more a surprise, his fingers start pulling at the laces securing her own pants, mostly unsuccessfully. _Good idea,_ offers the back of her mind helpfully. Things come into sharper focus, and now needing more of him, she sits up and focuses her attention on the laces at his sides. She has to slide off the desk for him to be able to get her fully unlaced, but that just gives her a better angle to do her own work. In the race to get things undone, she ultimately wins, able to get things loose enough to slip her hand down and wrap her hand around his cock, already rock-hard.

Cullen clenches his jaw and grabs her hips, tugging her forward, grinding into her body as she squeezes gently. He is suddenly breathing hard, and he takes a second to rest his forehead on her shoulder, calm himself slightly, before finally pulling the last of her laces free. Stretching up for another kiss, she waits until he has been distracted from everything else before she grips harder, slides her hand back and forth in a single slow stroke.

Whatever fine threads of control they each had left are broken when Cullen groans, then _growls_ , against her lips. Both pairs of hands push at the top of her pants, shoving them down past the smooth skin of her thighs, getting bunched up at her knees. She's about to reach down, lift her feet, take them off all the way when Cullen grasps her hips again and fully _lifts_ her back up onto his desk. Feet dangling freely, the soft cloth slips off and falls to the floor below. He steps back between her legs, leaning forward, pressing her further back until he has her lying flat on the desk, palms on either side of her head as he kisses her.

Warm, wet kisses that take her breath away, then lower, his tongue running down the front of her throat, soft pecks left in a trail between her breasts. Expecting him to stop there, there's a sharp twinge in her belly when he... doesn't. Lower still, his lips are brushing her waist now, next her hip, and then he's kneeling down next to the desk, hands caressing her thighs, slipping them apart, her skin burning where his lips have touched her. Caitriona closes her eyes tightly, the anticipation nearly unbearable.

A second, a lifetime, later his promise is fulfilled. She arches her hips up into him; he presses harder with his lips, tongue moving in slow circles around her clit. Already slick, his fingers touch with the barest amount of pressure, the most maddening tease, and she strains further, wanting them inside her. But instead, he moves his hands up, underneath her, using them to pull her in even closer to him. Her legs wrap around his shoulders, heels digging in; every movement of her body now is an attempt to get him closer, deeper, _more_.

How long does she lie there, writhing on his desk, moans barely stifled lest the sound carry past the confines of his tower? How long is she floating, senseless, aware of nothing but her fingers tangled in his hair and his lips, his tongue, working faster the more desperate she sounds? Lost from the world, eventually she feels her tension growing, feels Cullen's clever tongue moving again, the circles he's making getting smaller every time her moans rise in pitch. She can feel the peak so close now, just beyond her reach, lust and desperation coming together in a pleading whimper. 

"Cullen... please..." she whispers — and he obliges. Finally, blissfully, his tongue connects with her clit and it pushes her over the edge. The back of one hand flies up to cover her mouth, no longer able to stop a long, loud moan as she comes.

Cullen stays where he is, lips and tongue soft and gentle now, carefully bringing her back down to earth. When she's finally relaxed, legs dangling bonelessly, he stands back up, leans down for a kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and he helps pull her upright, holding her close to keep her steady and warm. After a time, when she's ready, she picks her head back up, smiles, and steals another kiss. 

He gestures wordlessly to the ladder leading up to the loft, so she hops down, grabbing his shirt and slipping it on, so big on her that it hangs low on one shoulder. She climbs the ladder on slightly shaky legs while he collects the rest of their clothing, then follows her up, joining her on the bed where she has collapsed, still recovering. As he lies down, she slides close, fitting her body to him, resting her head on his shoulder, one leg slung over his. A hand comes up to rest on her arm, thumb once again stroking gently over the freckled skin.

They lie like this for a time, Caitriona struggling to put words together into coherent thoughts. Mind's haze finally fading, a memory surfaces.

"Cullen?" she asks quietly.

"Hmm?"

"That girl you met, back when you first became a templar... what was her name?"

"She was called Grace," he replies. He picks his head up off the pillow to look at her curiously. "Why?"

"I was just wondering who I ought to thank for that," she answers, smirk plain in her voice.

Cullen chuckles, sounding happier and more relaxed than she's ever heard him, and kisses the crown of her head. All day today, remembering their first kisses had led her daydreams to this place: being here with him, curled into the warmth of his body. Her mind begins to get lost again, dwelling contentedly on how much more comfortable and safe it is than she'd even been able to imagine. Slowly her thoughts wander and blur, until—

She shakes herself and tilts her head up, an apology on the tip of her tongue for drifting off so easily and neglecting him. Just before she puts voice to the words, she sees that Cullen has drifted off himself. With a smile she lowers herself back down to his shoulder, one hand on his broad chest as it rises and falls in deep, even breaths. The rhythm is hypnotic and impossible to resist. Reasoning that she'll be more than happy to give him her full attention as soon as he wakes, she relaxes and soon joins him in sleep.


	6. Chapter 6 (v2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to anyone who has already read the first version of this — I gave up last night on the original ending for this chapter even though I wasn't happy with what I had. But today I figured out how to make it work, so I have reposted it. 
> 
> If you have already read it, the only thing you'll find changed is the ending, maybe the last quarter or so of the text. Forgiveness requested as always!

Her eyes trace the twisted vines of ivy climbing stone, barely distinguishable in a dim orange light. Only the tiniest of sounds echo through the tower: the muted crackle of the dying fire; a faint whistle, low and hollow, when the wind blows past the window. Rolling over without leaving the warmth of Cullen's bed, Caitriona pauses for a moment when she sees that Cullen himself is not there. His pillow still bears a shallow indentation where his head lay, not having been empty long enough to reclaim its usual full shape.

The creaking of wood now joins the other sounds trying to break through the stillness: someone climbing the ladder that leads up to the loft. Blonde curls peek above the level of the floorboards, quickly revealing the rest of Cullen as he finishes his ascent. Frowning slightly, she notes that he is dressed, a fresh shirt over his leather breeches, once again tightly laced. Even his cloak and boots are already on, and that is finally enough to drive her to sit up, tugging the blankets around her as well as she can to stay warm.

Before she has a chance to ask, he walks to the bed and sits beside her, the look on his face plainly telling her that whatever she may have had planned for when they woke is now off the table. Cullen kisses her gently before breaking the bad news. 

"I'm afraid we have less time than we expected. One of my captains brought word from the scouts. Evidently, on occasions such as this, it is Nevarran custom to arrive triumphantly at the break of dawn. We'll both need to be at the gates to meet them when they do." He covers his tired eyes, rubbing them momentarily before sliding his hand all the way down his face. Sighing, eyes downcast, he drops the other shoe.

"The Orlesian group will not be far behind."

Caitriona softly curses her thoughtlessness in allowing them to indulge in even a wink of sleep. How could she have been so foolish as to waste so much as a minute, to forget that their time together was something so limited, so precious? Grasping at straws, her mind works rapidly for a way to steal back even a short amount of time. "But... what about..."

The words falter almost as soon as she speaks them aloud. Cullen lifts her chin for another kiss, slow and soft. As he pulls back, she can see sympathy and sadness warring in his expression. He shakes his head, standing and fetching her clothes from the side table. "Believe me, no one is more disappointed in this turn of events than I am. Had I paid attention to Josephine's notes, had I known we'd need to prepare for their arrival so early, I might have... but it's done now. Josephine will be expecting me, and she'll be trying to find you as well. There still should be no one on patrol on the walls; you can slip out and get to the courtyard through the tavern. Hopefully unseen, at this hour."

Caitriona, resigned, has begun dressing while he lays out her escape route. Still only half clothed when he gives her one last kiss goodbye and turns to head back down the ladder, she leaves the comforting warmth of the bed to clasp her hand around his just in time. "Cullen... tonight?" 

The wedding isn't until tomorrow, and there is one more night left to them. But rather than the enthusiastic agreement she'd expected, he hesitates, and her stomach drops. "The castle will be crawling with nobles. If even one of them were to see or hear something... I don't know." Looking down at the floor, uncertain, he sighs, and her heart sinks. The night she had assumed they had remaining doesn't seem to be part of Cullen's plans, making the waste of hours last night that much more tragic. 

"I'm sorry, I should go," he apologizes. With one last squeeze of her hand, he swings himself down the ladder and is gone.

\----

There are few things Caitriona finds more boring than the overstuffed affectations of nobility; it's just one reason why she has never fit in well with her family. Given the circumstances, she is even less enthusiastic about this particular event. At least the grand arrival this morning had been over quickly — a few flowery words and gifts exchanged with the prince, and the Nevarran nobility was happy to be whisked off to their quarters. Now, though, it is late afternoon, and she is sitting in an ornate, gilded, and supremely uncomfortable chair, presiding over a room packed to bursting with Orlesians.

The ceremony has already been going on for several hours at this point, various members of the Orlesian court each taking their turns droning on about... well, she hasn't really been listening to much of it, so she isn't sure what. She sends a prayer of thanks skyward for the fact that her role here is largely ornamental, leaving her attention free to wander. And wander it does, passing the time by reliving the last two nights to escape the tedium. The tedium and, to be honest, what — who — she knows must be coming. 

Although she has been surveying the room, wondering which of the women can be the Lady Juliette, Caitriona has so far not been able to pinpoint anyone in particular. Dozens of ladies create a kaleidoscope of color in their brilliant dresses: lush blue velvet brushes up against silk in a vivid purple patterned with stripes, while a ginger beauty stands out in a rather garish canary yellow satin gown that clashes with her hair. Feathers, flowers, fans; everyone is so richly adorned that it is impossible to guess who among these might be the one she's seeking.

At long last, there is a pause in the endless, irritating hum that has been buzzing at the back of her awareness for hours. Caitriona looks over at Josephine, who steps up close and murmurs in her ear. "The presentation of the ladies Charlotte Amélie and Juliette to the Inquisitor. Once each has expressed her gratitude formally for your hospitality, the ceremony will conclude."

Her stomach is suddenly in knots. As glad as she'll be to have the formalities over with, she was still not prepared for this, probably never could have been no matter how long the courtiers had blathered on. Nodding, she straightens slightly in her chair while Josephine begins the introductions. 

The Lady Charlotte Amélie steps to the front of the room first, long hair flowing down her back in a cascade of golden curls. Young and lovely, she radiates excitement about her upcoming wedding even while going through all the motions of propriety. She carefully delivers a few rehearsed words, then curtsies deeply and moves to join the rest of the crowd. A handsome older gentleman in a crisp burgundy tunic steps forward, offering her his arm — _Lady Charlotte's uncle and escort,_ Josephine whispers.

Heads turn to Caitriona's right as Josephine announces the Lady Juliette, and she walks forward from the back of the room, crowd parting to let her pass. Alone among the colorful Orlesian ladies, she wears an elegant, understated gown in a rich dark grey. Glittering white gems drape her throat and decorate her vibrant brunette hair, pinned up in a sophisticated style. Quite short and petite, she nevertheless carries herself with a commanding and dignified air that is unmistakably royal. Much as she hates to do it, Caitriona must admit that the Lady is strikingly beautiful. 

The Lady Juliette recites the same thing as her counterpart in a tone of stiff formality that does not fully disguise the contempt she feels for this ceremony, perhaps for the whole arrangement. For a brief moment, Caitriona meets her eyes and sees a flash of anger, of wild defiance. Then the moment passes and the Lady curtsies deeply to her, then turns back to the crowd to meet her own escort.

Her heart skips a beat when Cullen walks out from behind the first row of nobles and stretches out a white-gloved hand to the Lady Juliette. Someone has pressed him into a costume that is purely Orlesian: a black velvet jacket with gaudy gold metallic trim, matching gold on his slacks and gloves, obscenely shiny black boots. How did she not see him lingering among the crowd? He, too, holds himself rigidly, and pointedly does not look her way as he passes by. 

Resting a hand lightly on his, he and Lady Juliette turn and leave the room. Lady Charlotte Amélie and her uncle follow, and soon the rest of the Orlesian court in attendance is filing out, chattering brightly about the smaller gatherings planned for the rest of the night. Dimly, Caitriona is aware of Josephine at her side, relaying instructions, and tears her attention away from the retreating couples reluctantly.

The rest of the evening passes by in a blur of music, wine, and gossip as she is towed from one room to the next, obliged to put in an appearance at every party before being permitted to turn in for the night. Somewhere in the later hours, she is jolted again when she sees Cullen and his bride-to-be holding court in a salon that has been lavishly decorated, the finery no doubt brought all the way from Orlais for the occasion. From afar, she sees the Lady whisper something to him, then sees him lean in close to whisper a reply back. 

Suddenly overwhelmed with the memory of Cullen's lips brushing her own ear, she interrupts a courtier in mid-brag to excuse herself, then quietly asks Josephine to take her to the next room. On her way out, unable to stop herself, she looks toward Cullen at the front of the room one last time. They make eye contact, but his expression is unreadable in the second before she moves out of sight.

What must be hours later, she is at last given a reprieve and heads back up to her quarters. As she passes through the empty castle halls, she thinks of Cullen, and wonders if she has now seen him for the last time before he becomes a married man.

It's so late when she finally gets back that her fire has almost died from neglect. The room is dark and cold, nothing but moonlight from the balcony to light it and embers to keep it warm. Her footsteps echo through the empty air as she crosses to the fireplace, adds another log, pokes at it until the fire begins to slowly revive. Leaning against the hearth for warmth, she begins to undo her fastenings to change into her nightclothes.

"Caitriona." 

Her clasps half undone, she spins around and finds Cullen has stepped inside from her balcony. He still wears his ridiculous Orlesian jacket, now unbuttoned and open in the front. Once he comes close enough, she can see more gold trim on his shirt glinting feebly in the firelight. It occurs to her that she has never heard him speak her name before — until now she has always only been _Inquisitor_ to him.

"Cullen! How...?"

"I hope you will not mind my coming in without permission. I couldn't stay at that blighted party one minute longer."

Mind? How in the name of Andraste could she mind, when she'd been sure she wouldn't see him again tonight even though it was the thing she wanted most? Had the Maker offered her one wish, this is what it would have been for: more time with Cullen, to have him here with her for one more night.

She smiles. "No. I don't mind. But I didn't expect to see you tonight. You seemed so... and what about the nobles?"

Cullen comes in close, sliding one arm around her, palm held flat against the small of her back. The other reaches up to her cheek, tucks back an errant lock of red hair. "Maker take the nobles. The longer that party went on, the more certain I was that I needed this last night with you. I would risk the wrath of all the court and the Empress herself to... _be_ with you." He leans down for a gentle kiss, brushing his lips against hers for a moment afterward. 

"If... you'll have me?" he murmurs.

Heart full to bursting, feeling as though her skin is glowing so brightly as to light up the room, she grins back up at him. Then her smile turns to a flirtatious smirk.

"Oh, yes — I'll have you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of a tough time writing this chapter, so hopefully it wasn't as tough to read as it was to write. :)


	7. Chapter 7

_Oh, yes — I'll have you._

And have him she shall. Caitriona takes Cullen's hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. She pauses for a kiss — deliberately long and slow, trying to resist rushing even though they have only a few precious hours before morning. Then her hands are released, and he starts ridding himself of his Orlesian clothing. Before he has even finished taking off his jacket, she has pulled the hem of the vulgar, gold-trimmed shirt up and out of the top of his pants. A second later the shirt, too, is removed and tossed away.

Next, it's her turn: Cullen moves around behind her, strong hands on her shoulders and his lips on her neck. She sighs, tingling from the sensation of his stubble, his kisses, along the side of her neck, and thank the Maker all the ceremonial nonsense didn't force him to shave clean. She manages to concentrate enough to finish undoing her buttons, and once she has his fingers creep beneath the collar and slide it off her arms, lips and teeth moving down to the crook of her neck as he does. 

A soft moan escapes her — he has hit upon a spot that she has always found especially pleasant. Although she hates to interrupt his kisses, she does so anyway to pull off her own loose shirt. Feeling his hands resting on her hips, she grabs them and pulls them forward, tilts her head back to rest upon his shoulder. Besides making what he's doing easier for him, she loves the feeling of being surrounded by him: broad chest against her back, arms encircling her completely. 

It's easy, from this position, for her to guide Cullen to undo her laces, and when he does both pairs of hands push at her pants, sliding them over her hips while Caitriona toes off her low-slung shoes. Turning in his arms as she steps out of them and kicks them to the side, she presses herself up against him, nipples gone hard from the night air now suddenly flush with the heat of him. 

After so much shyness over the last few days, she half expects him to blush and fumble again once she's fully disrobed, but it seems that he has at last overcome it. Rather than hesitating, he clasps her hands behind his neck and uses that as a starting point for his hands to roam. Down her arms, turning them so the backs of his fingers tickle at the sides of her breasts. Stopping there for a moment, he brushes both thumbs over her nipples, once again prompting a moan — but one that, this time, she doesn't have to keep quiet in the worry that someone will hear.

A smirk from Cullen at the sound of her moan, a quick kiss, and his hands move further down. Over the curves of her waist and hips, only the slightest hesitation before they then move back and down to rest gently, carefully below the small of her back. She leans into him, nuzzling at his neck, and when his hands start to move again she expects they will simply go even lower. Instead, with a startled yelp, she finds herself swept off her feet and into Cullen's arms. Her arms still locked around his neck hang on, and he carries her easily over to the bed.

Remembering last night and the ideas she'd missed the chance to follow through on, she sits back up on the edge of the bed almost the same second he lays her down among the pillows. At his waist, a gold string is tied in a simple knot — she tugs on one end of the string and it comes undone almost instantly. To her surprise, that knot seems to have been the only thing holding his pants up at all, because they slip dangerously low and won't take much more to fall off completely. 

"Say what you will about Orlais, they at least design their finery to be easily removed," she jokes.

"Naturally," Cullen chuckles softly. "It is perhaps the one thing that can be counted in their favor."

It only takes a twitch of her fingers before the fabric loses its grip on him and slides off. They both chuckle when it bunches up at the tops of his boots, and though she thought he was done with his fumbling, she is amused to hear several curse words uttered under his breath while he struggles to take them off. A bit of a blush still stains his cheeks when he straightens back up again.

Cullen's eyes close and he takes a deep, controlled breath when she takes him in her hand. He's already so hard that even the gentlest squeeze makes him gasp — but she'll have more than mere gasping out of him tonight. His hands, resting on the top of her head, clench into fists when she takes him into her mouth. Now his whole body tenses up, breath coming faster and harder the more she works her lips and tongue. 

Tracing little circular patterns up and down his length, exploring the soft skin where head meets shaft with her tongue — these things are clearly pleasing him, pulling more little gasps and sighs from him, but still he is just barely able to keep his composure. She pauses for a moment, looking up at him, watching him slowly calm himself until he is finally able to open his eyes. Just when she sees he thinks she's finished, she goes back for more. This time she takes as much of him in as she can in one swift motion, sliding her tongue along his cock and wrapping a hand around what can't reach her lips.

"Oh, _Maker_ ," he moans, letting his head drop back, all illusion of control finally broken. As she moves his cock slowly in and out of her mouth, at the same time stroking with one hand, he moves his hands to her shoulders, gripping hard. He manages to hold himself still despite clearly fighting the impulse to push his hips forward and feel more of her mouth around him.

Then he drops his head down, curling in on himself, almost hunching over her, and he groans again. "Maker, I... wait... stop."

She does, looking up at him curiously. "Stop?"

"No, it's not that— that was..." he trails off, struggling to find the right words — perhaps _any_ words. She grins at how well she has undone him, and waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts.

"Too much more of that and I wouldn't have been able to stop myself. And there were, ah, other things I had in mind tonight."

"Ah," she smiles knowingly, "other things." 

Pulling her legs up onto the bed, she shifts over to make room and at the same time slips between the sheets, shivering just a little at the touch of the cool cloth. He lifts the downy blanket and gets in in alongside her, settling back against the pile of pillows. Just as he begins to move toward her, she catches him off guard with hands placed on his shoulders, pinning him down while she swings one leg over to straddle him.

His expression is one of pleasant surprise: obviously, he wasn't expecting her to take charge, but it is just as obvious that he is eager for her to do so. Shifting her hips over his, she can feel herself already wet, sliding over Cullen's cock, warm and hard beneath her. His grip tightens on her hips as she grinds against him. Unable to wait any longer, she lifts herself up and positions herself over him, then begins slowly sinking onto him.

It has been a while for both of them, so she is forced to take her time while he works to keep himself steady. They moan softly together as she finally seats herself all the way down. For a moment, she stays still — just sitting here, Cullen filling her completely, already feels so good that she doesn't want it to end. But soon, just sitting still is no longer enough.

Slowly, they pick up a steady rhythm, Caitriona rocking up, Cullen's hips rising to meet her when she moves back down. Both of them are panting now, stealing kisses whenever they can find a moment between breaths. Her long red hair drapes down, tickling his face, and he reaches up a hand to tuck a bit behind her ear. "Gorgeous," he whispers, following the word with a gentle kiss. 

She closes her eyes and knows nothing but Cullen, his body beneath her, his hands pulling her down by the hips, his rock-hard length filling her over and over again. She is only dimly aware of her own moaning, loud and uninhibited, alternating between curses and prayers. Her hands find Cullen's arms and grip tightly, leaning back and using them to pull herself down even harder, bringing him deeper into her. She can feel herself getting nearer and nearer the peak, and on some level she can tell that Cullen, too, is close.

Finally she looks down and sees eyes the color of honey meeting her own. Their pace picks up and they come together even harder; they moan together as he plunges deep with every stroke. She leans forward slightly, bracing herself on her arms, and the change in angle shifts the pressure to just the right place. No longer able to keep her eyes open, she squeezes them shut and bites her lip, the spiraling tension unbearable. Then, finally — with a slight roll of her hips at the height of his thrust, she reaches that edge and passes it, riding out the waves of pleasure.

Cullen follows her, only a few moments behind when he comes with one last, long thrust and an explosive moan. They rock together slowly, both still coming down and catching their breath. Caitriona even feels a bit lightheaded after such intensity, and collapses against Cullen's chest. She can hear his heart pounding, beating rapidly at first and gradually slowing down to a normal pace.

Eventually she rolls to the side, stretching out next to him and propping her head up on her elbow. He does the same, turning to face her and draping one arm over her, his fingers stroking her skin, giving her a chill. When she shivers he pulls her closer, and she tucks her head in under his chin, breathing in his scent, tangling her legs with his. After a time they've calmed completely, and she finally speaks.

"Cullen. Are you awake?"

"I am," he murmurs, "for now at least. But I feel I may nod off at any moment."

"Well," she purrs. "We can't have that."

At that, she breaks out of the embrace and stretches up to kiss him, deep and passionate, hands roaming across his chest and lower as she does. They have rested enough. There is so little time left to them, and she doesn't intend to allow them to waste even one more minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as this chapter goes all I will say is that it has been a very, very long time since I wrote something like this. My skills feel painfully rusty, and I hope I haven't let you guys down.


	8. Chapter 8

For the third morning in a row, Caitriona rises before dawn. Unlike the other mornings, though, Cullen is here, stretched out alongside her. Neither of them has slept a wink, but Caitriona, at least, doesn't regret it in the slightest. If she had her way, they'd stay here like this, snuggled under the blankets in the comfortable warmth. Sadly, in this matter she has no choice, and she nudges him into motion.

They both climb out of bed and dress, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Caitriona is just putting the last few pins into her hair when Cullen comes up to her from behind, arms slipping around her and holding tight. He rests his chin on her shoulder but says nothing — and what words could be said that would make what's happening any easier? They stay like that for a minute, Caitriona wrapping her arms over his. Then, as they both know they must, they let go and walk away, hands still clasped.

She takes him down the stairs and across to the other side of her tower, where the private staircase leads down to an inconspicuous door connecting to the war room. He should be able to leave that way and no one will be the wiser as to where he spent his night. They part at last at the top of the winding stairs, exchanging soft kisses and a few murmured goodbyes, only pulling away from each other with difficulty. Once he has disappeared behind the curved stone wall, she turns to head down the main stairs into the great hall, waiting there for a time to give Cullen plenty of distance before she descends.

For once, she is glad to be up and about so early, because there are very few people in the great hall at this hour — only a few folk putting the finishing touches on the decoration. She has no desire to wander into parts of the castle that will soon be bustling with activity, so she steals across the hall and into Solas's rotunda. Solas himself is nowhere to be seen; she enjoys Solas's company, but today, she is relieved that he is not here. There are times when his piercing gaze sees more than she'd like.

Up the stairs, then, and into the library tower which luckily seems to be even emptier than the great hall was. Everyone must be either still asleep or busy starting their preparations for today's festivities. Grateful for the solitude, she selects a book at random off the shelves to pass the time, then sits down at a chair furthest from the walkway. She won't be hidden, but hopefully she will at least not draw the attention of anyone who might happen to pass by.

Even the ravens in the rookery above are subdued, as though they too are waiting. She stares at the open book in front of her, realizing eventually that in all the time she has been here reading, she hasn't made it past the first page of the text. Now that it is broad daylight, she can see through the tower window the busy courtyard below. Surely the hour must be drawing close; the ceremony was meant to begin not long after daybreak. She is just starting to consider whether she ought to go take her place when there are footsteps on the stone behind her.

"You'd think I could have found you sooner, hiding in one of my own favorite places," Dorian says.

"I'm not hiding—"

"Hiding," he chides. "But from what, I wonder?"

She frowns at him, surprised. It's not like Dorian to be... what? Forgetful? Insensitive? Whatever it is he's doing, it throws her a bit, and she's not sure how to respond.

Now it's Dorian's turn to frown slightly, tilting his head to the side. "But haven't you...?" A thought seems to cross his mind and the trace of confusion clears. "Ah, I see."

"Thank goodness we straightened that out, Dorian."

"Indeed." She waits, but he doesn't elaborate.

"But alas, in that case, I must tell you that I've come to you with bad news." Her breath catches in her chest. Dorian reaches out and takes her hand, gives it a gentle squeeze. "I'm afraid, my dear, that it's time."

Sighing, she squeezes back as they turn to leave the tower. When Dorian starts turning to the right, towards the stairs that will lead them down to the great hall, she instead pulls him to the left. Josephine, perhaps understanding more than she has let on, has arranged for her to be seated on Vivienne's balcony rather than front and center. Caitriona had just nodded her assent and silently thanked the Maker for small favors. 

When she and Dorian emerge on the balcony, she is chagrined to find that the chair brought up for her to sit in is the same tacky, uncomfortable affair from yesterday's ceremony with the Orlesians. Gallant as ever, Dorian escorts her over to the railing gracefully. Before she sits, she looks down to the far end of the hall, where her throne has been replaced with a Chantry altar. The Revered Mother that has traveled from Nevarra to perform the ceremony bows to her; she nods back, and that seems to have been the signal for the ceremony to begin. Music begins playing below, distorted and dissonant by the time it echoes up to her.

As she settles herself in the blighted chair, she can just see the first two figures as they start their march up the aisle. Prince Bastien, clad in black velvet similar to Cullen's outfit from yesterday, holds out his hand in a formal gesture. Next to him, her hand upon his, is the Lady Charlotte Amélie, resplendent in pale pink silk slashed with white. On either side, the room is crowded with the nobility of both nations, most of whom seem too preoccupied with whispering amongst themselves to pay attention to the bride and groom.

Caitriona watches them move forward, then closes her eyes and steels herself for the second couple to appear. She will face this head-on, unflinching, as she has faced any number of other seemingly insurmountable situations up to now.

Dorian picks up her hand and drops a gentle kiss upon it. As he does, he glances up, and his eyes flicker up and back towards the open windows. Then his gaze settles back on her, his expression somehow brighter. He tucks a finger under her chin and lifts it up so her eyes meet his. 

"Chin up, my dear. I think you'll soon find that all is not lost."

A valiant sentiment, and she nods in agreement even as her eyes mist over slightly. Blinking, forcing herself to keep her composure, she stares straight ahead but grips his hand one last time before he walks toward the back of the balcony, out of her field of vision. The prince and his lady have made it more than halfway up the great hall now. 

Dorian, it seems, has not left her entirely, because she feels his hand again, now resting on her shoulder. Reaching up, she covers it with her own hand, grateful for his support. He squeezes her shoulder in return.

"Caitriona," a voice murmurs.

Electricity courses through her body — that wasn't Dorian's voice, that voice belonged to—

"Cullen!" she yelps, louder than is proper, and a few heads turn her way from below. "But you're... what's going on?" she whispers. She looks down at the great hall, her mind working hard to make sense of this. The couple has just reached the Revered Mother at the altar and she begins speaking to the assembled guests.

Unable to keep her attention on the ceremony, unwilling to have this conversation where anyone could look up and see them, she bolts from her chair and walks stiffly away from the railing, far enough that the balcony floor hides them completely from the crowd below. Cullen follows, taking her hands in his.

"I don't..." she trails off, still not understanding what's happening. Cullen is confused for a moment. "No one told you...? ...ah. Perhaps Josephine intended me to bring you the news myself." He pauses before finally explaining: "Empress Celene has withdrawn her cousin from the marriage."

Caitriona is stunned, although she isn't sure whether it's the surprise or the thrill of joy she gets from those words that has done it. "I see," she says evenly, not really seeing at all. "But... how? Why?"

"Josephine came to me with the news not long after I returned to my tower this morning. By now the rumors have spread through the whole castle; it's a wonder you've not heard. Apparently the first thing Lady Juliette did when she arrived yesterday morning was send a dozen of Skyhold's ravens out with letters to the highest of the Orlesian nobility. Invitations to a ball she planned to host here, or so she claimed. As it turns out, they were actually letters conveying the shocking details of various affairs she has been involved in, affairs of intrigue and... otherwise."

Caitriona draws a deep breath, taking it all in, and he continues. "She managed to cast enough shadow upon herself that if the Empress went through with the betrothal, it would have been seen as an intentional affront to an ally. That, of course, would do serious injury to her reputation with her other allies. And Josephine tells me that the court will be so consumed with the gossip that any issues anyone had with the Inquisition will be well out of mind. Celene's return raven arrived early this morning with the withdrawal, and orders for Lady Juliette to return to Orlais immediately." 

Cullen's expression turns thoughtful. "Lady Juliette would ruin herself with scandal rather than submit to a forced marriage. Not at all what I would have expected from an Orlesian royal. As much as I may have been inclined to dislike her, I must admit I admire her courage."

"I agree," she replies, the new reality finally beginning to dawn on her. She laces her fingers together with his, lifts their entwined hands to her lips. "In fact, it appears we are in her debt." 

Cullen leans in and kisses her on the forehead. "So we are, and I am more grateful for it than I can say." Then finally, finally, what she's been waiting for since almost the very second he first spoke her name — he takes her tightly in his arms for a deep kiss, igniting a fire inside her that, for a moment, threatens to sweep her away entirely, ceremony and alliances be damned.

She tears herself away from him, breath coming quickly. "Cullen... _Maker,_ there's nothing I want more right now than to disappear with you. But we... _I_... I can't."

He looks surprised and disappointed. "I understand, of course," he says carefully.

She touches a hand to his cheek. "No, I don't mean that. I can't just ignore my responsibilities as Inquisitor tonight, but I'd like for you to stay with me. For the rest of the ceremony, and for the receptions this evening. And... afterward." 

Cullen smiles then, lighting up his face, all trace of uncertainty and disappointment gone in an instant. He bows to her, then offers her his arm, and when she takes it he begins leading her back to the hated chair from which she must finish watching the wedding. "It would be an honor to stay by your side tonight, my lady." Then a most un-Cullen-like smirk twitches up one corner of his mouth. "One that I look forward to very, _very_ much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do we think, everyone — one more chapter for celebratory sex? Cuz I'm thinking maybe some celebratory sex... ;)


	9. Chapter 9

The ceremony drags on for well over an hour in typical Orlesian fashion. Cullen stands dutifully next to her chair the entire time, staying with her as promised. Through the whole thing, he is constantly touching her: his hand on her shoulder, fingers stroking the back of her neck, holding her hand when she reaches for him. Whether he's trying to reassure her that he's still there or reassure them both, she isn't sure, but she's grateful for it either way. It's tough to keep her gaze fixed on the events in the great hall when all she can think about is Cullen, but she manages it just barely.

At long last the young couple, now married, is presented to the gathered nobility and the wedding ends. Caitriona stands and joins the rest of the crowd in applauding while prince and princess begin the long walk back down the length of the great hall. She feels Cullen's hand on her back but must wait until the newlyweds are close enough to bow to her, and she can bow in return, before she can turn her attention away. Thankfully, this last bit of formality is the one thing about the entire affair that is brief, and soon, she is finally free.

They only make it halfway down the stairs to the library before they stop, Cullen's body pressing hers to the cool stone, palms to her cheeks, his lips hungry for hers. He begins kissing her neck at the same time his hands slide down to cup her breasts and she sighs deeply. Inching downward, he nearly makes it to her waist before he stops and slowly gets a grip on himself. She waits until his breathing has calmed, then gives him one last chaste kiss and leads him the rest of the way downstairs. 

Dorian is still in the library, waiting next to the door when they come through it. Everything about him, from his grin to the way he leans casually against the wall, radiates smugness. He waggles his fingers at her as she passes by, and it makes her stop short. After a quiet word to Cullen asking him to wait, she rounds on Dorian with an accusatory whisper.

"You knew!"

"Obviously." Impossibly, his grin gets even wider. "All of Skyhold has been buzzing about it since dawn. I can't begin to think how you managed to avoid the news."

"It didn't occur to you to _tell me?_ " Her attempt at scolding Dorian is completely ineffective since she is unable to keep a smile off her face.

"And ruin Cullen's grand moment?" he asks in mock horror. "I'm insulted that you'd even consider me capable of doing such a thing. Or I would be insulted, if I weren't so glad for you." They exchange a kiss on the cheek, then he flaps his hands at her in a shooing motion. "Now off with you. Your handsome gentleman awaits."

As Caitriona turns to leave, Dorian catches her by the elbow and murmurs in her ear. "Remember, my dear — _hours_ of salacious detail."

With a laugh, she swats Dorian's hand away and leaves, feeling so light that she nearly skips across the library to where Cullen is waiting. She takes his offered arm, and he escorts her down the curving stairs and into the sweeping tide of nobles on their way out of the great hall.

Just as she was last night, she's pulled along by Josephine to wherever she needs to be. Today, the parties can no longer be contained, and they spill into the corridors to form one continuous celebration that stretches across half the ground floor rooms of the castle. Cullen follows them, and between the day's gossip and the two of them attending the festivities together, he is clearly an object of scrutiny for everyone assembled. After how uncomfortable he was at the Winter Palace, Caitrionia is surprised to find Cullen mostly at ease with the attention. He still blushes a bit when they enter a room and a hush descends on the crowd, but quickly recovers once conversations pick up around them.

An endless stream of people to greet and chat with takes them from day through to evening, and the celebration is only picking up steam when they finally arrive at the newlyweds' banquet. Golden platters piled high with sliced meats and buttery vegetables — clearly more trimmings brought from Orlais — are crowded onto the table alongside baskets of bread and goblets of wine, three for each person. She and Cullen make polite small talk as they eat, their feet pressed together, hands occasionally clasping for a second behind the tablecloth.

Not long after dinner has ended, a group of musicians begins to play in the corner of the room, and the bride and groom step out to dance. Once they've rounded the floor a few times, there is a smattering of applause and others begin to join in. Caitriona is invited onto the dance floor with a bow by Prince Bastien, and when Josephine urges him to ask the princess to dance, Cullen freezes like a frightened rabbit. Ultimately he is prodded out of his seat and joins the dance. Over the prince's shoulder she can see Cullen guiding the princess across the floor carefully, his hesitation endearing rather than clumsy. Still, he is clearly relieved when the music stops and he can take refuge behind the dinner table once more.

After a dozen more dances have been played and a quick whisper to Josephine, the ambassador says farewell for all three of them. They are finally able to leave, emerging into the great hall which is now, once again, deserted. Once Josephine has assured them that they have put in as much appearance is necessary to satisfy the whims of diplomacy, she wishes them good night with a knowing smile and vanishes down the hall to her office in a blink. 

Caitriona's ears ring slightly after so many hours of noise — or is it from the nervous excitement she is feeling now that they are alone at last? Cullen, too, seems suddenly timid; how is it that they can still feel shy around each other after everything that's happened between them in the last three days? After a few moments of silence, he stands a bit straighter and holds out his hand.

"Would my lady allow me to escort her to her quarters?" he says softly.

She takes his hand and follows it with a kiss on his cheek. "I'd be honored, good sir," she agrees with a smile.

They ascend the stairs into her room that is, for once, warm, thanks to the blazing fire she's had a page taking care of all day. After they each remove the outer layers of their formal wear, they come together in a simple hug. There's no need to rush now, no abrupt end to their time on the horizon to push them forward. Cullen's hand strokes her hair as she stands tucked in under his chin, her arms around his waist, not holding on for dear life anymore — just holding him. 

She leans back and tilts her face up to him, and he obliges with a gentle kiss. She looks up at him, studying the contours of his face, his stubble, his scar. It's almost beyond her to believe that he's really here, that this is really happening. To believe that the specter of the Lady Juliette is banished, and no immovable obstacle stands between them. She traces over the shape of his lips with one finger, unable to look away from him.

"This is real, isn't it?" she says softly. "It's over."

Cullen nuzzles her cheek, plants another kiss on her lips. "It's over," he agrees, "and I will not let anything take me away from you ever again." 

Lightheaded with sheer happiness, she takes one last moment to cling to him tightly. Then she takes his hand and walks over to her bed, sitting down and bringing him with her. There's no hint of the frenzied passion that has overtaken them the last two nights; instead there are soft touches and light kisses. His hands slide over her skin as she pulls off her top, around her waist and across to her back, then pulling her closer to him. This time his kiss is slow but full of intent, lips pressing harder to hers as it deepens. 

When she finally comes up for air, she backs away slightly, just far enough that she can slip her slacks off and down to the floor. Now fully naked, she lies back on the pillows, watching while Cullen removes his own shirt and pants, his eyes locked on hers. Then he slides next to her, lying on his side, dropping his head down for another kiss. It doesn't stop at her lips, this time, as he begins to move lower, first applying his lips and tongue to the sensitive spot on her neck and drawing a sigh from her. She threads her fingers into his hair, content to leave him to his devices for now.

He stays in that spot for a while, more sighs his reward, before continuing his path down her body: from her neck to her collarbone, where he nips with his teeth, then moving on. The deliberate pace they've set so far is interrupted and she surprises herself with a moan when he closes his mouth over one nipple, simultaneously sliding his thumb across the other. Her hips arch up slightly when he keeps going, tongue swirling and lips pulling, and suddenly she feels out of breath. Clutching his shoulder with one hand and the back of his head with the other, she hangs on, her insides now turned to molten heat.

Already she can feel tension building inside her, little twinges in the pit of her stomach making her breath hitch in her throat. She tilts his chin up, bringing him higher while she slides down lower and turns onto her side to face him. Returning the favor, she runs her tongue up the front of his throat at the same time she reaches down and drags her fingers up and down his length.

"Mmm," he hums, caressing her hip and bringing goosebumps to her skin. Not content with just that, though, he takes her hand and wraps it around himself so she can feel how hard he is. When he lets go, she begins stroking him, slowly and lightly at first, then faster and gripping more tightly. His hums and sighs become moans and he's having trouble catching his breath. His strong hand slides down to palm the curve of her ass, then he tugs her forward, grabbing the back of her knee and dragging it up over his own legs. She can just feel his tip touching her, and drives her hips forward to intensify the tease.

Nearing his breaking point, Cullen growls softly and rolls them over, Caitriona beneath him. She takes just a moment to savor the feeling of his body above her, pressing her into the bed. He settles himself between her legs, grinding into her, sliding his length past her clit. She puts her head back and tries to just enjoy the sensation for a time, but now he's kissing her neck again and—

" _Maker,_ Cullen," she breathes, "please... I need—"

Thankfully, he is happy to give her what she wants. Backing off a little, he positions himself and then slowly pushes into her, easing deeper until he has sheathed himself inside her completely. He groans, forehead dropping to her breastbone, and takes a couple of slow, calming breaths. His golden eyes find her green ones when he looks up, brushing hair back from her forehead.

"My darling," he whispers, gazing at her like no one ever has before, like she's unspeakably precious, like he can barely believe she's real. "You feel — you _are_ — incredible."

That incandescent joy fills her heart again, bringing a lump to her throat and leaving her unable to speak. Instead she replies by lifting her lips to his, trying to tell him with her kisses that she feels the same way. When the kiss intensifies, she pulls him back down on top of her, shifts her hips up and wraps her legs around him to bring him in even further. 

At last, he begins to move in her, and her world focuses solely on him, on the feel of his cock sliding in and out, warm and slick. Focuses on his weight above her, on his fingers intertwined tightly with hers, on his moans and sighs in her ear. He smells, sounds, feels so amazing that it drives all thought, all awareness from her mind just as it did last time. Though some distant part of her registers her own moans, she can think of nothing but the delicious friction of him, the ever-rising heat inside her, and how close she's getting to the edge.

Without stopping, without even slowing down, he lifts himself up just enough that he can make eye contact once more, kiss her as he thrusts deep inside her. It's a struggle to resist the urge to close her eyes and throw her head back, but she manages to hold his gaze. His thrusts get a little faster, a little harder, but she can tell he's holding himself back to wait for her. 

All it takes is a slight change of angle, a tightening of her legs around him, and she's there, the rising moans that escape her lips culminating in one last raw cry that is torn from her throat. Cullen lets himself go at the same time she does, groaning, burying himself inside her and resting there while his chest heaves with the effort and the pleasure. Bracing himself on his arms, he peppers her jaw and neck with tiny kisses as they both come down.

Eventually he slides over to the side, lying on his stomach, one arm draped over her. Despite the fire in the hearth, she shivers now that her skin is exposed to the open air, and together they maneuver themselves under the blankets. It's so warm and cozy under here, and Cullen's body against hers is so comforting, that she is soon battling the creeping fog of sleep. Rousing herself with a heroic effort, she rests her head on her elbow.

"I'm trying to stay awake, I promise," she apologizes, giving him a peck on the lips.

"Why?" murmurs Cullen, eyes closed and sounding half asleep himself. "We had no rest at all last night, and after today I think we've earned it."

For a second, she's a bit surprised by the question and not sure what the answer is. "I suppose... I wasted time on sleep before, and I'd hate to do it again."

When he turns toward her, she can see he is putting forth an effort of his own to open his eyes. But rather than staying awake, he brings her in close, draping her arm across his chest before settling back down onto the pillow. Thumb brushing the pale skin of her arm, he snuggles into her and closes his eyes once more.

"If there's one thing I intend to do after these last few days, it's stay by your side. Always. So it's all right to rest, my darling. I'll make certain — _we'll_ make certain — that from now on, we will have plenty of time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who read this far, thank you for sticking with me and I hope you've enjoyed it. To all the commenters, thank you so much for your kind words, they make it so much more worth it!


End file.
